Shattered Justice (6 page)

“Heard? You mean you’ve never been stung?”

“Not even once; a fact for which I’m grateful.”

Dan had laughed then, telling her she was “blessed among sting-free women.” Now …

If she’d been stung before, they would have known she was allergic. And they’d have known to bring along the needed first-aid supplies. Instead, he had the terrifying sense that his wife’s first bee sting could be her last.

“D-Dan …”

He grabbed her hand—there were red bumps and splotches all down her arm. He held her limp fingers to his cheek, then used his free hand to jerk his cell phone from his belt clip. “Don’t try to talk, Sarah. I’m calling for help.”

She said something more, but it was barely a whisper. Her fingers tugged on his, and he could see how hard she was trying to speak. He leaned close to her lips. “Easy, honey. Just whisper.”

“Tell … kids … love them.”

Please, Jesus! Please, help her!

“You can tell them yourself as soon as we get home.” He flipped the cell phone open, but Sarah shook her head, the feeble motion sending panic zinging through him. “Sarah, please …”

“
Tell
them.”

Dan clenched his teeth, set the phone down, and took both her hands in his. “I will.” The hoarse promise almost shredded his heart. “You know I will—if it comes to that.”

She coughed, her eyes drifting shut. A smile trembled on her lips. “You’re—you’re such a good man, Dan.”

“Sarah, please honey, don’t try to talk.”

She wasn’t listening. A tear pushed past her closed eyelid and trickled down the side of her face. “I always saw … God … in your … eyes.” She gripped his hand and opened her eyes, though he could tell what an effort it was for her. “Help … kids see … who God is. Help them … really live. Really love.” She dragged air in. “And you. Please … Dan … live … love.”

She was saying good-bye!

“Sarah!”

“Love you.” The words whispered out on a faint breath. Her eyes closed, and she went limp.

“Oh no you don’t!” He grabbed the phone, shaking her with his free hand. “You
stay
with me, Sarah! You hear?”

He punched 911 into the phone, then, keeping one hand on Sarah’s chest so he could tell if she stopped breathing, he listened to the ring once … twice …

Don’t let this happen, Jesus. Please, don’t let this—

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

Dan spoke quickly, identifying himself as a sheriff’s deputy and giving information—their names, the situation, their GPS coordinates—as clearly and concisely as possible. But even as he did so, he knew what the 911 operator would say.

“We’ve notified emergency services, Mr. Justice, but it’s going to take them twenty minutes or more to reach your location.”

Hopelessness landed on his chest like a leaden weight, and he looked down at Sarah—then froze.

There was no motion under his hand.

“She’s stopped breathing!”

Dropping the phone on the ground, Dan leaned over Sarah, his ear next to her mouth as he felt for a pulse in her neck.

No breath. No heartbeat.

As though this were a stranger and not the center of his universe, he tilted Sarah’s head back and started the rhythm of CPR. Two breaths. Fifteen chest compressions.
And-one-and-two-and-three …

All the while, behind the steady count to fifteen in the forefront of his mind chaos reined. Images of Sarah and the kids, memories of laughter and loving, ran rampant … Sarah’s voice drifted through, singing the kids to sleep, uttering that deep contented sigh she breathed so often against his chest as they drifted off to sleep, the sound a sweet benediction on the day … and his own desperate prayers, agonized pleas for God’s mercy and divine intervention.

…and fifteen
.

He pinched her nose shut, placed his mouth over hers, and watched her chest as he gave her two more breaths.

What …?

There was no chest movement. No sign the air was getting in.

He tried again.
Puff. Puff
.

Nothing.

Her chest should be moving. Why wasn’t it?

Awareness slammed into Dan. Anaphylactic shock. Severe allergies could cause anaphylaxis, which meant her airway was swollen shut.

Jesus … Jesus!
His mind screamed the name, a desperate plea for mercy.
The air can’t get through
.

“No …” Dan pressed trembling fingers to his wife’s neck, checking for a pulse. “Come on, Sarah. Come on …”

Nothing.

He sat back with a thud, pulling his knees to his chest, lowering his face to his hands.

There was nothing he could do.

The sudden sound of rotors pounding the air brought him to his feet. He waved his arms, hope roaring through him as he watched the chopper lower to the ground. Rushing back to Sarah’s side, he pressed his fingers to her neck once again.

Please … please …

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. “We’ll take over now, Deputy.”

He looked up, ready to argue, to tell them
he
had to do this, had to save her, but the words died on his lips. The face beside him was familiar.

His gaze fell to the name tag.
Wally
. Of course. Wally Johnson. Dan had worked with him at other accident scenes this summer. He’d been impressed at the way Wally treated people. With respect. And a depth of kindness.

“Deputy?”

Dan let himself be urged from Sarah’s side. “She—” He could hardly speak above a whisper. He tried again. “She hasn’t been breathing since I made the call to 911. It’s anaphylaxis. Bee stings.”

Wally and his partner went to work with solemn speed and efficiency. Dan stumbled away, leaning against a nearby tree,
watching as they injected Sarah’s still form, performed CPR.

Watching. Hoping. Praying.

But even as he did so, he knew. Had known almost from the moment she sagged against him and crumpled to the ground.

It was over.

His sweet Sarah was gone.

IT SHOULD BE RAINING
.

That would have made more sense. Cold, drizzling rain. Then he’d know the very heavens understood something terrible had happened.

But as Dan stood looking out the window, there wasn’t a drop in the sky. Rather, the sun shone from behind wisps of cotton clouds. Birds sang glorious rhapsodies as they filled the trees just outside the window. A teasing breeze lifted the curtains, sending them dancing like giddy schoolgirls when spring comes to play.

Like Sarah, on the last day of her life.

Dan longed to choke the life from the dark anguish gnawing at him.

How could this be? How could the world go on with such joyous abandon when his life was so broken?

Widower
. That was the kind of thing you said about white-haired men, those who’d shared long, loving lives with the women they adored. Men who talked about their fiftieth and sixtieth anniversaries, about the good old days.

But Dan was only thirty-seven! There wasn’t a hint of white in his brown hair. Not unless this past week had put it there.

Raspy fingers of emotion curled around his throat. He shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets—then allowed himself a small, humorless, smile. His sister Kyla had told him to be sure and wear a suit, but Sarah would understand. She knew suits just weren’t his thing. She’d bought the black jeans he now wore for that very reason—so he’d have something at least a little dressy to wear on somber occasions.

Yeah, well … it didn’t get more somber than this.

He spread his hand out against the cool windowpane, closing his eyes.
Mom … Dad … I wish you were here
. He missed his parents since their deaths. They’d had him and his sisters late in life, starting with Dan when Mom was forty-three and Dad was forty-seven.

His mom, who had struggled with her health for a number of years, finally lost the battle three years ago, just before she turned seventy-seven. His father faded quickly after that and died a year later. Dan remembered thinking then that losing his parents was the worst pain he’d ever known.

He squeezed his aching eyes tight against new grief.
You always knew the right thing to say. How to help craziness make sense. How to find some semblance of right and justice in even the worst of times
.

Not even his parents could make sense of this.

As though to refute that thought, his mother’s tender, peace-filled voice drifted through his mind, speaking words he’d heard from her most of his life …

“God’s in control, son. Don’t ever doubt it. When things look most out of control, that’s when He’s at work. His justice will always prevail.”

Opening his eyes, he let his hand fall away from the window. How often had she said that to him? God’s justice will always prevail. He’d never doubted it. Not for a minute. Not even in the face of this loss.

If only that helped, knowing his mother’s words were true. But it didn’t. Not at all.

“Danny?”

Warmth flooded him, easing the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.

Danny
.

To most people, he was
Dan
. To Kyla, ever the proper one, he was
Avidan
. “Mom gave us specific names for specific reasons,” Kyla always said. “I, for one, intend to use them.”

But
Danny
? Only one person called him that.

A gentle touch on his arm drew his attention, and he gazed down into the misty hazel eyes of his youngest sister. Eyes that saw so much more than others did.

“So—” he laid his hand over hers—“Ky freaking out?”

Annie’s weary smile spoke volumes. The funeral had been hard on all of them, but Annie and Sarah had been good friends. Losing her like this … well, it cost Annie.

Still, Dan could see his sister was doing her best to put on, if not a happy face, at least an uplifting one. That was Annie. Always trying to help people get through the hard times with a bit of laughter.

She shrugged. “Hey, it’s in Kyla’s contract as the oldest sister.”

“She’s not
that
much older. And you’re not all that young. You’re what? Thirty-eight?”

Annie’s arched brows warned he was treading on thin ice. “Thirty-three, you beast. You never have been good at keeping track of our ages.”

A pang sliced through him. Sarah was the one who tracked ages and birthdays and special family events. Now that duty would fall to him.

“And three years older is plenty, especially when you were
born
old.” She flicked dog hair from her pants. “She was less than pleased that I brought my dog with me.”

For all his sister’s bluster, Annie didn’t really mind Kyla’s ways. She just loved to heckle her for them. “Kodi’s no trouble.”

“Yeah, well, tell Sister-Mommy that. She’s convinced Kodi’s going to do something terrible. Like drool. Or shed.” She lifted another dog hair, held it up, and let it go.

Dan watched the hair float down onto the rug. “So where is the fur ball?”

Annie pulled herself to her full height of 5’5”, trying to be an imposing presence. At 5’9”, Kyla could assume that pose almost without trying. Though she was slim, she gave the impression of strength. An immovable force. But Annie? She weighed all of 135 pounds soaking wet. Needless to say, she wasn’t having much luck. Dan was proud of himself, though—he didn’t laugh. His sister might be small, but she came by those red glints in her cropped auburn hair honestly. She could be fierce when she was riled.

“That
fur ball
, my good man, is a purebred German shepherd from the finest stock.”

Dan swatted at her. It felt good to tease. To pretend they were just getting together for the heck of it—instead of because his world had come to an end. “Yeah. Like she came from the shelter with papers and everything.”

She giggled, and the sound did his ragged nerves good. “Okay, but you have to admit she
looks
purebred.”

No doubt about that. From the tip of her black, pointed ears to the end of her wagging black tail, Kodi was every inch and pound—ninety-five, at last weighing—German shepherd.

“Anyway, she’s tucked away in my room, curled up in her crate.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Annie planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, let’s see. First there’s my dog. Then, here we are, at your wife’s funeral luncheon,
and you’re nowhere to be found. Honestly, I think Kyla was about to have me haul Kodi out to find you.”

Just what he needed. A certified search-and-rescue dog tracking him down in his own house.

Annie must have read his dismay on his features, because she patted him on the shoulder. “Fear not, dear brother. I saved you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Sister-Mommy was about to do far worse than call out Kodi.”

His eyes narrowed. “How so?”

Annie’s tired eyes regained some of their usual twinkle. “She was all set to send Mrs. Briggs after you.”